


Falling Down

by mercurialMalcontent



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon Compliant, Caretaking, Fluff, Hair Brushing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-15 03:20:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4591050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercurialMalcontent/pseuds/mercurialMalcontent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian assists the Inquisitor after the elf takes an inopportune tumble down a hillside.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Falling Down

Dorian looks up from his book as, a little way away, Inquisitor Lavellan’s quiet grumbling escalates into increasingly frustrated hissed curses. He's been picking leaves and twigs out of his hair since the party got to the camp, and from his increasingly agitated movements Dorian guesses he's hit a particularly nasty tangle. 

He clears his throat. "Would you like a bit of help?"

Lavellan freezes, then after a moment mutters a petulant, "No."

Dorian swallows a laugh. It wouldn't do to have the poor man thinking that Dorian is laughing _at_ him; his dignity is clearly bruised quite enough as it is. "Let me rephrase. Would you take a bit of help, even if you don't like it?"

Lavellan lowers his hands and slumps. "I suppose that would be the sensible thing to do."

"A moment, then, while I find my comb." Dorian rummages through his pack for a moment before he removes a wide-toothed wooden comb. He tucks his book into the pack before he rises and moves to where the great hope of all of Thedas sulks on a boulder, his armored coat carelessly discarded beside him and his black hair an improbable nest of tangles and bits of plant matter.

Dorian crouches a bit and peers at the mess in wonder. "How in the world did it get this bad? Did you _roll_ down that entire hillside?"

"I was too busy trying not to get a face full of thorns to notice."

Dorian shakes his head. "Budge up a bit." Lavellan sighs and shifts, making room for Dorian to settle behind him. It's strange, being about to touch him casually; this is the first time since before Haven was destroyed, and so much has happened since then. 

_Dwelling won't help untangle this mess,_ Dorian tells himself firmly, and starts plucking out the worst of the debris. "So, Inquisitor--"

The elf groans. "I thought I'd gotten you to stop using formalities with me."

"That was before you survived a mountain dropping on your head. What will people think if the evil and dashing Tevinter goes around calling you by your personal name?"

"That we're friends, perhaps?" 

The lightheartedness in his voice is forced, which gives Dorian pause. "Friends! What a novel yet enticing idea. Very well then... Embriel."

Embriel's huffed laugh sounds genuine enough. "Oh good, you remembered!"

"I've always been a bright one." Dorian plucks free a tattered and rather damp leaf. "But as I was going to ask -- how _did_ you fall down the hillside? You were nowhere near the slope when I turned away, and suddenly you screamed--"

"Don't remind me."

"But how? You couldn't have gotten over there so quickly unless you..." Dorian trails off as a thought hits him. "Did you fade step off of the hillside?" Embriel's narrow shoulders draw together even narrower, and Dorian starts to laugh. "You fade stepped off the hillside! No wonder you screamed like a child!"

Embriel groans and puts his head in his hands. "I _said_ , don't remind me."

Dorian tries to swallow his laughter as he pats Embriel's shoulder. "It's nothing to be ashamed of! I suspect everyone has a some unexpected screaming in their pasts."

"Oh?" Embriel shifts to peer over his shoulder at Dorian, a smirk growing on his face. "What kind of screaming do you have in your past, Dorian?"

"The kind that causes gossip among the servants." He matches Embriel's gaze with a smirk of his own. "Now, will you straighten up and let me get at your hair? I promise not to make you make any more embarrassing noises."

Embriel pouts and straightens. "What a pity." 

Dorian bites down on an urge to offer to make Embriel make some embarrassing noises later. _Just like you to want to leap right into bed with the smallest reassurance of friendship,_ he thinks irritably. He plucks out the last few twigs and says out loud, "Steel yourself, my friend, for it is time for the comb."

"I shall endevor to be stoic," Embriel says, straighting his spine and squaring his shoulders dramatically. It gets a laugh out of Dorian, which cuts his thread of self-loathing before it can grow. 

Dorian works carefully, from the ends of Embriel's hair upward, picking his way upward half an inch at a time and stopping frequently to untangle tiny knots and remove the little bits of plant matter he hadn't noticed before. "It's remarkable how much of a mess you made of yourself from rolling down a hill." 

"It's a talent." 

"And how." Dorian frowns at a difficult patch and rubs it with his fingers, which come away dirt-streaked. "You even managed to roll through a bit of mud." 

"What?! Augh!" 

Embriel reaches back to feel it, but Dorian swats his hand away. "Well don't _touch_ it, you'll just spread it around. Let me comb it out." 

" _Vin, mama,_ " Embriel mutters as he drops his hand. 

"Did you just 'yes, mother' me in Dalish?" 

Embriel pauses, then starts to giggle. "Was it that obvious?" 

Dorian snorts. "Even if 'mama' wasn't a universal word, you gave yourself away with the sulky attitude. So listen to your 'mother' and _sit still_." Embriel grumbles, but it's only a token protest as he settles and allows Dorian to get back to work. 

Dried mud removed, Dorian moves to the hair nearest Embriel's scalp, where he's even more careful still. There isn't any debris to remove and very few tangles, but it pays to be thorough, especially when the payment is spending long minutes running his fingers through Embriel's hair and watching those perfectly squared shoulders loosen and relax more than Dorian has ever seen. More than possibly _anyone_ has seen since Embriel had left his clan, if Dorian was to guess. 

When the plausible deniability starts running thin, Dorian lowers the comb. "That will do for now, I think, although your plait-" He taps the unraveling mess that curves behind Embriel's left ear, "-is a lost cause. I'll have to redo it." 

Embriel breathes a little sigh. "No, I've taken up enough of your time," he says as he shifts like he's about to move away. 

Dorian stops Embriel with a light hand on his shoulder. "Nonsense. You're always busy running this way and that and taking care of everyone else's business. Let someone take care of you for once." Silence stretches, and Dorian says hastily, "Unless of course you'd rather not have my fumbling shem fingers try to work a plait." 

Embriel blurts a laugh. "I was... merely shocked silent, trying to imagine you with hair long enough to plait." 

"I'm sure I would look fantastic, but I've never bothered to find out," Dorian says lightly. No, it had been a man with dark eyes and a slow smile who had taught Dorian how to arrange his hair, intimate lessons that had given Dorian a foolish hope. That hope was crushed flat by the end of that summer, as Dorian's lover sweetly explained that he was moving on now that his family had found him a new wife. 

He swallows down the hurt (five years and it still hasn't gone away) and says, in as even a voice as he can imagine, "I assure you I do know how to plait hair, however." 

A heartbeat's worth of silence. "I suppose you can't make it worse," Embriel says cheerfully, and turns a bit so Dorian can get at the disheveled mess better. 

Dorian forces a chuckle. "That sounds like a challenge!" 

Embriel turns his head to squint at Dorian. "I know where you sleep, Altus Pavus." 

"That's not much of a threat," Dorian says with a snort as he starts unraveling the disaster. "Unless you're taking lessons from Sera, in which case, I promise to be on my best behavior." 

"You had better be," Embriel says haughtily as he turns his head away, a smile tugging at his lips. 

The plait is easy enough to unravel, but again Dorian lingers as he untwists the locks from one another and smooths them with his fingers. Embriel scarcely seems to mind; his shoulders relax again, then slump so much that Dorian wonders if he's fallen asleep. He takes extra care not to pull or tug too much as he redoes the plait, just in case Embriel _has_ drifted off. Maker knows the poor man could use more rest than he gets. 

As Dorian fastens a bit of cloth around the end of the plait, however, Embriel breathes a sigh and straightens. "All done, then?" 

"Indeed." 

Embriel turns toward Dorian and clasps Dorian's hand in both of his. They're still just as rough and callused as they were before Haven. " _'Ma Serannas, arani_." 

Dorian blinks. "I take it you _weren't_ sassing me with that?" 

Embriel's nostrils flare, but he laughs. "I was saying thank you, you ass." His smile softens as he squeezes Dorian's hand. "Thank you, my friend." 

"You are most welcome," Dorian says and, putting his other hand over Embriel's, squeezes back. 


End file.
